


Maybe

by Viking_woman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kissing, Oral Sex, Sex, Sweetness, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman
Summary: After visiting the Dalish clan in The Exalted Plains, Inquisitor Ashanna Lavellan meets Solas in the abandoned Elvish baths. Unsettled a bit by the Clan's nice welcome and celebration of her, Solas proceeds to show Ashanna just how much he thinks she is worth.





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Destiny_Apocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destiny_Apocalypse/gifts).



> This fic is from a trade with Destiny, featuring her wonderful Inquisitor, Ashanna Lavellan. Thank you so much for the trade, and for letting me borrow Ashanna :)

He finds her in the destroyed baths. She sits at the top of the stone stairs, stubbing out a joint as he enters through the dark archway. The smoke is tangy in the air, mixing with the damp smell from the river. He cannot help his smile, the steady beat of his heart. Ashanna leans back on her elbows, her eyes closed. The pillars throw shadows across the ruin, but she sits in the light of moon, bright, silver reflecting off her dark hair.   

“Ashanna?” 

“Solas. I didn’t hear you enter.” She turns her eyes away from the moon, amber orbs fixed on him.  “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” he replies.

“Were you sent to look for me?” Her eyes narrow.

“There was, ah, some concern when you were not at the camp.” 

“I am not running off.” She shrugs. “I just needed a moment...” 

He knows her need to hide from the attention is short-lived by now, but when she was nowhere to be found, Cassandra urged him to go. He didn’t need much convincing.

“I know. I can leave, if you prefer to be alone, but I would not mind your company.” He leans against the wall, his heart thudding in his chest, a sudden urgency to get closer.  

“No, it’s alright. It is good to see you, Solas.”

His shoulders relax, and a small joy settles in his chest. His love for her is a fresh thing, rich and raw and real, like the earth, feelings he no longer attempts to deny. He makes his way across the ruin and sits next to her. She presses herself against him, the fur around her shoulders warm and soft.

“This was a gift from the clan here, was it not?” He strokes the fur, his hand sliding down her back.

“It was,” she says. “I appreciate it, but…” she hesitates.

“But what?” His lips quirk up. “I believe you were very successful, and acquired both valuable assets and support along with the gift.” 

It occurs to him that she might be homesick, longing for the familiarity of the hallas and the aravels.

“Do you want to spend more time with the clan?” His voice is gentle, he hopes, and he tries not to think of how small the camp was, the herbs and furs and people spread out in the dirt. Diminished, even more than the people who built these baths.

“I was nice to smell the hallas, but I’m fine. I don’t need to go back.” She lifts her hand, placing it palm up on her thigh, looking down at the glowing anchor. “It was strange, how they treated me. Like I’m…” 

“A leader with a considerate amount of power? Someone to be respected?” He thinks she would have expected that by now. She certainly has grown into her role, handling everything with bold efficiency.

“I am Dalish, just like them.”

You _are_ Dalish, one of their own. More so, you are accomplished at you task, Ashanna. You are an impressive woman.” He means it, and his words are not sufficient, inadequate to express his admiration.

“Flatterer. You’re just saying that to get into my breeches.” She turns to him, mirth sparkling in her eyes.  

“It is the truth.” He picks up her hand and holds it within his own. “You are determined. Strong. Bright.” With each word, he kisses her knuckles. He smirks at her. “Is it working?”

She laughs then, deep and warm. “Maybe.”

His smile turns wide and genuine. She shows this side of her so seldom, this playful joy, and it has him caught. He does not want to escape.  

“What else shall I tell you? That you are beautiful, and worthy of their respect.” He traces his hand over her jaw. “You are unlike anyone I’ve ever known.”

He tells her the truths he can.

His hand moves to her shoulder, and his lips follow its path, kissing her jaw, leaning into her. She smells like herbs and home and happiness. 

“You make me want…” he falters.

She makes him want to remain, to be grounded and bound to the earth. She makes him forget his own unworthiness, she chases his loneliness out of his heart. He knows he cannot stay, he should not stay, but he ignores it. In this moment, he can only think of her pulse under his fingertips, of the softness of her lips as she kisses him. Right now, she smiles at him, her eyes warm and full of laughter and love. He does not deserve her, but to leave now would be even more selfish.

She places another kiss on his lips and tilts her head. “What do you want _ma’halla_?”

“You,” he says, another truth that comes easy to his lips. “Let me show you.”

“Yes,” she answers, kissing his cheek, brushing her hand over his shoulder. Her touch is real and warm and true.

He pushes the furs off her shoulders, and his hands travel lower, palming her breasts through her shirt. He loves the soft feel of her, the contrast of her nipples peaking under the soft fabric. He kisses her throat, and his hands pause on her breasts. The gentle weight of them fill his hands. He flicks his thumbs over her nipples, using her shirt to create friction and frustration, eliciting low moans from her throat. Her hands are grasping his shoulders, pulling at his sweater.

“Off,” she grunts.

He lets go immediately, and she leans back to pull off her shirt. The moon reflects on her dark skin, like she is dipped in silver. His heart is pounding in his chest. 

“Ashanna. _Vhenan_.”

“Yours too,” she says, and he realizes her fingers are undoing the belt around his waist, busy while he is staring. He helps her remove his own shirt.

Her hands touch his shoulders, his chest, and he groans. He can feel his own want, his hardness pressing uncomfortably against his pants. He pays it no heed and he moves to sit between her legs, on the stairs below her.

“You are wonderful,” he tells her, and he dips his head to kiss her collarbone.

“You bring an idea of hope, of freedom, with you.” He kisses each freckle on her breasts, relishing in the small sounds she lets out. She is a well of hope and he wants to drown in it. “It is no wonder you are celebrated.”

Her calloused hands roam over his back, and her nails dig into his back when he swirls his tongue around her nipple, sucking and nipping. He uses his hand on her other breast, circling with his fingers, and he tugs gently. Ashanna moans his name, and then she yelps. He pauses. 

“Too much?” he murmurs. He keeps his hand under her breasts, stroking the undersides gently. 

“More. I’d like more.”

“ _Ma nuvenin,_ ” and when his hands return to her nipples, he tries a harder pinch. “Like this?”

“Yes,” she moans, a long beautiful drawn out sound, and she arches her back, clutching his shoulders. 

He does it again, and again, she has given in to the pleasure, attempting to move into him, to bring them closer together with a rough urgency. He keeps her there, one hand and lips on breasts, the other roaming over her shoulders, her throat, her hips. Mapping her every curve.

  _Resplendent, magnificent, effulgent_ he tells her, slipping into elvish. Lips on her skin, his tongue painting words of love. He wants to give her everything. He wants her naked, and he asks. She helps him push down her pants, removing all of her clothing.

 Now bared to him, his fingers trace her folds, gathering the moisture there. He presses his hand against her sex, and she falls back on the furs and discarded clothing behind her, his name on her lips. It is the most beautiful sound he knows.

Solas slowly pushes a finger inside her of her, watching her squirm and pant. He adds another, relishing in the feel of her, hot and wet around him. She moves her hips, rolling towards him, and he smiles against her stomach, lips on her soft skin. He moves his head lower, kissing her sex, and then his tongue finds her clit as his fingers keep working her. He loves nothing more than having her fly apart like this, tasting her, to wring pleasure from her body, warm and glowing.

He can feel her trembling, and he increases his efforts, ignoring the insistent press of his own erection, constrained in his pants. Ashanna’s hands scrape at the stone, and he knows she holds herself back.

Solas lifts his head and licks his lips.

“Come for me, _vhenan_. Let go,” he says. He pumps his fingers inside of her for emphasis.

“No,” she says. “Solas. I need you inside of me. I need your cock.”

He freezes, her words making him flush with heat, his breath caught in his throat. She wants him, in the simplest and most complex way lovers want each other, and how can he deny her? 

She sits up, and she kisses him. 

“I want to… can I sit in your lap?” she asks, and he nods and he sits up like her.

He fumbles with his laces, and Ashanna laughs a little as she helps him. As soon as she can, she has her hand around him, gripping, sliding over him. He groans and feel himself get harder, pressure building inside of him.

“I… wait,” he says. He moves to the top of the stairs so he can sit properly, and then he lifts her into his lap. “Like this?” he asks. 

“Yes,” she says, a drawn-out sound. She smiles at him, and kisses his jaw as she lowers herself onto his cock. Warm and wet and perfect. She starts moving in with languid, beautiful motion. She feels so real, she is shining in the light of the moon, but she is here, in his lap, in the earth. 

He loves the way she looks at him. He drinks it up, he craves it. She looks at him like he is a man, a man who pleases her. Like he is someone worthy of love, and he desperately wants to be. He kisses her collarbone, her shoulder. 

He helps her move, with his hands on her hips, and he cannot resist the temptation to pull one dark nipple into his mouth, causing her to clench and moan. He has to concentrate to not spill inside her too soon.

“Faster,” she says, “harder.”

He would love to go slow, to take his time, to draw pleasure from her body in deep long strokes, to have her shudder until the moon is new. But she is around him, warm and soft and her nails are digging into his shoulders, so he complies. His grip tightens and he lifts her, bringing her down at an increased pace, frantic with love. He moans her name again, and he whispers nonsense into her ear until she screams. His own grunts echoes amongst the stones as he follows her, his orgasm washing through his body.

 

After, she is curled up in his lap, seeking his heat. She is naked, and he is half undressed, evidence of his desperation. He owes her so much more, hours of pleasing and relaxation, a palace where she can lay her troubles at his feet. He sighs as he holds her close. Maybe, one day.

“I am glad you came for me _ma’halla,_ ” she whispers into his ear, then she stretches and rolls beside him. She is spread out, unashamed and delightful in her nudity.

“So am I, _vhenan._ ” It is true, and he feels a lightness from her affections so freely given. He idly traces patterns on her skin and for a while they lie there, content and deep and safe in the earth. “This place is nice,” she says. “I wonder how it looked when it was new.”

He looks at the arches and the river beyond them, gentle waves of darkness and light. He thinks of the life the elves of the Dales build here, if it was good. Did they have time to prosper? Did they relax here, or did they poison themselves with politics before the humans drove them away?

“Me too. I should like to dream here, one day, to see it in its splendor.”  He holds her closer, and he cannot get enough of her body pressed to his skin. Did lovers of the past hold each other gently here, sneaking away in dark corners?

“Would you show me?” she asks.

“I would love to _vhenan_ , but not tonight. I am afraid the others will be restless if we stay here much longer.”

 “We can come back, after this business is done.” She waves her hand, mark glowing, in the dark.

 He thinks of it, of wandering, dreaming with her. He wishes it could be so, and as he buries his nose in her hair, as her warm love engulf him, he thinks that maybe, maybe they could. He clings to it, and to her. Maybe, maybe, maybe.


End file.
